got game by the pound
by lisbei
Summary: Oliver Queen is alive only in the past. He is forgotten. Al Sahim, huh? Felicity isn't going to take this lying down, so to speak. In other words, Felicity has a cunning plan.
1. Chapter 1

Felicity's ass was cold. That sounded weird in her head. Fine, so she didn't generally call it her _ass_. Did she call it her butt? Though she'd never spent any length of time thinking about what to call her posterior ( _sure_ , she always talked like a Jane Austen character), 'butt' was about right. On the other hand, that sounded too childish for the situation she was in, though ass was too much, like a Nicki Minaj song that hadn't been made radio-friendly.

What was she _doing_? Why was her brain babbling on about useless crap, instead of making her get up and give up on this ridiculous idea she'd had? She couldn't even remember how she ended up here, like this. 'Here' being on the metal examining table in the basement of Verdant, and like 'this' – well. Naked. No clothes. Nada.

Ergo, the ice-cold ass, and the frozen rest of her. The cops hadn't released their so-called crime scene yet, but what with Verdant being closed until Thea recovered, she'd been able to sneak in past the crime scene tape (thanks, Captain Lance) and make her preparations. She was barefoot, and wondered if she should have kept her shoes on, but that would have been too high on the porn-meter, even for her _special_ plan.

Felicity didn't want to involve anyone on the team (which had been rapidly shrinking anyway) and she only needed practical help from Nyssa of all people, who'd reluctantly handed over a phone number, like it was the Ark of the Covenant or something. Even so, Nyssa said it _might_ work to contact any high-ranking League member currently in the U.S. And she couldn't resist a parting shot, delivered from on high: nothing would distract Al Sahim from the task given by his master.

Felicity remembered rolling her eyes at that, though she was careful to do it when Nyssa had turned away. His master. Yeah, right. It was just some kind of brain-washing, right? Oliver wasn't really gone, was he? Oliver and Diggle had managed to get through to Maseo, and he'd been in the League for years. And Maseo had never told Oliver he loved him, so she should manage, what with the temptation of her naked body, offered on a plate . . . a really cold plate, which was causing her skin to pebble up in a not very attractive way – dammit! Maybe she should have chosen a better venue.

She rubbed her arms, trying to warm up, and forced herself to focus. The plan, come on. It would all be worth it, if this worked. Let's recap, she thought. She was sitting, in the basement of Verdant, stark naked, waiting for Oliver. There. She'd said it. Though not aloud, that would be crazy, right? The plan alone was crazy enough. _Her_ plan. It had sounded straightforward (to her) when she'd first thought of it, though in retrospect, the idea of getting _their_ Oliver back through the power of sex was kind of insulting, to both of them. The fact that it had been her idea didn't make it any less like she was pimping herself out, and treating Oliver like some pussy-obsessed fool. Had she just used the word 'pussy'? Thank god she hadn't said it out loud. And her train of thought had derailed, again. Get a grip, Felicity, she told herself, trying to replicate Oliver's angry tone whenever he thought her head wasn't in the game. No game, huh? She'd show him.

She'd used a voice changer to give him the simple message: Nyssa Al Ghul was in the foundry, waiting for him, if he thought he could handle her on his own. Oliver's icy answer was pure Al Sahim.

"No loyalty from Starling City folk? Why am I not surprised? Still, why should the Daughter of the Demon be in such an obvious location?"

Her answer, and it was as contemptuous as she could make it, through the voice changer, simply pointed out that hiding in plain sight used to be known as a good strategy.

"Your choice. Take it or leave it. Come alone, unless you need help to subdue one woman."

And she'd hung up on him, not giving him any more chances to point out the flaws in her (really very stupid) plan. Was he buying it? She couldn't tell, not with this guy. That thought brought her up short. If she really thought Al Sahim was a stranger to her, what the hell was she doing, planning to bang his brains out? What a mess. Though there was a prickle of . . . something else, at the back of her mind. Curiosity, that was all. She was intrigued by this, supposedly different man, who wore the face and body of the man she loved. She certainly wasn't turned on by the idea. Nope. No way.

She'd tried to create an atmosphere, with a few strategically placed candles. That was the light situation dealt with, as there wasn't any power in the basement since the police raid. But that meant she couldn't heat, either, something that hadn't occurred to her before now. Even though she knew her skin looked good by candlelight, when she wasn't covered in goose bumps, that is, she suddenly wished for some super-bright neon tubes. She was alone, naked, and waiting for a killer. What had she been _thinking_? What if a whole bunch of killers turned up? Had Oliver taken the bait? Or had this been the worst idea ever? Signs point to yes, she thought.

Except . . . there was that one shadow, just visible out of the corner of her eye, which looked darker than the others. Yes, _there_. One of the studs on his cowl caught the light of a candle and glowed, briefly. He was here.

Oliver Queen. The Arrow. Al Sahim, now. He stepped forward, arrow nocked and pointed at her chest. Her naked chest. A quick thought came to her: he has to _look_ to aim, right? She took a deep breath, wondering if he would react. When she was a kid she used to read romances full of low cut dresses and heaving chests, and always wondered what it was about boobs that could get guys going so fast. Would it work on Oliver? She would have shrugged if she'd thought she could get away with it, but maybe a deep, deep breath would be enough. Did it work? Wait for it, wait for it – yup. That was definitely a tiny tremor in the arrow pointed at her. And his eyes flicked downward. Yes! He looked! Oh, yeah, she had him. Now to reel him in.

"Where is Nyssa Al Ghul?"

The voice was . . . different. It wasn't the electronic Arrow voice (which had always made her giggle ever since Cisco, visiting from Central City, had used the voice changer to spend a whole hour saying "Because I'm _Batman_!", so it didn't scare her at all and oh god her mind was babbling again, focus, Felicity!), but it wasn't Oliver's normal tone, either. It was cold. Indifferent. It matched his face, at least, what she could see of it, over the mask which covered his nose and mouth. At least she could see his eyes, she thought.

"She might be here, somewhere. Why don't you come closer and find out?"

Felicity wasn't trying for a seductive tone – she had never seduced anyone in her life, and wouldn't know where to start. So she leaned back slightly onto the table, pushing her chest forward, and was gratified to see a flicker of candlelight catch the bead of sweat rolling down Oliver's forehead. Aha, Al Sahim! Not so indifferent, right? She felt a sudden, physical ache inside her at his reaction, and realised that in spite of her sadness, her freezing ass, and her terror, she was _incredibly_ horny. She'd never felt like this, with _anyone_. She wanted nothing more than to spread her legs for him, as wide as she could. She flushed deeply at the thought of how depraved that sounded in her head, and what it would look like, and the arrow pointed at her shook again. Just come closer, my Sahim, she thought, and had to suppress her shock. She _really_ wanted him, whatever he called himself.

"Where are your clothes?"

The voice wasn't that steady anymore, and he lowered the arrow, pushing it into the quiver at his back with a convulsive movement. Felicity was just glad that thing wasn't pointed at her any longer, and then she had to suppress a nervous giggle. Trust her babbling brain to come up with innuendo just when she need to keep her wits about her.

"Oh, they're around here . . . somewhere . . ."

She waved her hands vaguely in the direction of the darkened corners of the foundry, noting how his eyes followed every movement, and then went right back to her boobs. This was the one case in which she wasn't going to tell him that her eyes were up here (forgive me Gloria Steinem). She wondered if it was too much to say something like, miscreants had made off with her clothing. Probably too much. Just because the whole League of Assassins set-up looked like it should be taking place in an Allan Quatermain story, didn't mean she had to talk that way.

He'd moved closer, brought forward, it seemed, by her leaning back, and seemed surprised to find himself close enough to touch her. The bow was strapped to his back, now, and she wondered when he'd done that, then mentally shook herself, _again_. The plan, Felicity! She needed to focus. She opened her legs a bit, to get him to move even closer, and immediately blushed. She could smell herself. And so could he, as shown by yet another bead of sweat trickling down his face.

"Get dressed."

He was trying hard to sound unaffected, she could tell. But it wasn't working. And, just then, he was close enough. It was time. Her hand shot out as she took advantage of his distraction, slipping inside his pants and grabbing his dick. Which was heavy, and warm, and really, really hard. He moved to push her away, except there was no part of her which wasn't warm, naked flesh. His gloved hand landed on her breast and froze there.

She laughed, aloud this time, and tightened her grip around his cock. He tried to pull away, but stopped as she just came with him, following his movement, not letting go, as her thumb stroked the damp head gently. She breathed deeply, again, her breasts bobbed up and down, _again_ , and he closed his eyes, and groaned. Gotcha!

Here goes nothing, thought Felicity, and started jacking him, building up a good rhythm, as his breathing sped up and his eyes flew open.

"Stop that," he mumbled.

"That didn't sound very forceful," she answered happily. "Try again."

She didn't stop working his cock as she spoke, and it was getting nicely wet now. When she'd pictured this (and she had, a couple of times), she'd thought of it as being something she'd be doing _to_ him, and _for_ him. She hadn't realised she'd be so turned on by it, too. She tried to fix this moment in her head (for later, her perverse mind added) – when they'd had sex in Nanda Parbat, she never really had a chance to look at him. Not that she did now, but her hand was giving her a good idea. It was so strange, though – her hand was on the hottest part of him, her face was burning up, too, and the rest of her was ice-cold, except for her pussy, which was burning up and soaking wet.

She wondered how she looked to him, bare-ass naked, jerking him off, while he was fully dressed, with one hand on her boob which he really wasn't doing anything with. Ah, there it was – his thumb flicked over her hard nipple, and he was looking at it like it had just developed sentience. His thumb, not her nipple.

"You shouldn't . . . we can't . . . "

She was speeding up now, and his gasping breaths were coming faster. She didn't want to point out that his hand on her boob wasn't letting up with the flicking, and she had a desperate urge to squeeze her legs together to get some relief. At some point his mask had come off, and she could feel his huffing breaths on her face. He was still looking past her though, like he couldn't meet her eyes, and she couldn't help it, she spread her legs wider as though she could pull him inside her through force of will. Oliver looked at her face, finally, meeting her eyes as her rich scent wafted up between them, heady like sweet wine. He closed them again, as if his senses were overloaded and he couldn't take anymore, and groaned as he came, and came. Her hand was soaked with him, and she wondered if it would be too much if she brought it up to her face and licked it off.

Yeah, definitely too much. Especially as she'd never done something like that before, and would probably burst out laughing. Bad time for laughter, Felicity, she thought. She wiped her hand on his underwear, instead (so assassins wear underwear, who knew, right), and smiled sunnily at him.

"So. That was nice!"

Oliver stared at her, stunned. He seemed to be reaching for the blank assassin look, but it wasn't working for him yet.

He was having trouble controlling his breathing, and reached out for her, but she evaded him with ease. Always leave'em wanting more, she thought, as she slipped off the table. She was careful not to look back at him as she padded to the corner where she'd stashed her bag, and was thankful she'd brought a dress she could just slip over her shoulders, and slip-on ballerinas. The dress was red, of course and short and flirty – all the better to make an impressive exit with, she'd thought. When she turned back he had straightened and put his mask back on. Literally, as well as figuratively.

"What makes you think you can just walk out of here?"

He didn't sound very convinced. Or convincing. Felicity crowed inwardly – oh yeah, I'm the one with the power, baby! Baby? Did her mind voice just call Oliver 'baby'? Shut up, mind voice.

"Just try and stop me. Or maybe you'd like to put your hands all over my body again, like you just did."

Felicity didn't wait for him to react, or to point out that it was technically one hand (the other had been clenching and unclenching at his side as she brought him ever closer to the best orgasm he'd ever had, she bet).

She turned on her heel and swung past him, hoping he was staring at her ass (yes, _ass_ ) as she walked away. She had a moment of fear as she thought she might get an arrow in her back before she got to the stairs, but nothing happened.

She half-walked, half ran out of the club, but didn't give herself permission to react until she'd driven three blocks, when she pulled over and started shaking. What had she done? Who _was_ that person? She wanted to cover her face with her hands, but her hand smelled . . . it smelled of him, and of sex, and the whole interior of the car stank with it, until she had to get the windows open before she suffocated in it. The cold night air brought her to her senses. The plan had worked, kind of. But she still needed to _know_.

She got out her tablet, and, piggybacking on a neighborhood Wi-Fi signal, managed to log on to the wireless webcams she'd installed in the foundry after the police raid.

Oliver was still standing as she'd left him. Or was it Al Sahim? He was motionless, as though he'd been turned to stone. Had she broken him, already? She was just about to do the victory dance of Felicity Smoak, I.T. genius and Sex Goddess extraordinaire, when something changed.

There was no sound on the cameras, so she didn't hear his yell of anger, or was it frustration, as he overturned the steel table she'd been sitting on. He started walking away, then spun around, and nocked an arrow in a movement so sudden it was almost a blur. Just as suddenly, all the cameras she'd installed went to static, and she smiled, shaking her head in – admiration? Perhaps. Points to Al Sahim, for not being entirely fazed by a hand-job.

On the other hand – oh, Oliver. Didn't he know he'd just made her raise the stakes? Round one was a tie. Round two – not a chance.


	2. Chapter 2

**As of 28th June, this chapter is slightly different - but I promise I'll stop fiddling now!**

"You want me to _what_?"

John Diggle's voice rose an octave. Felicity winced. If only Oliver was lighter, or she was stronger, she wouldn't need Diggle's help with phase two of what she was starting to call THE PLAN. It loomed in her brain like a monolith in some scifi movie, affecting her every waking moment, making her feel a sense of urgency, even though it had only been a week since the . . . Handjob of Destiny? Come on, Felicity. Focus!

Diggle was giving her some serious side eye at this point.

"Look, I can't explain. I just please, please, _please_ need your help. Please? I promise it's for Oliver. You know we need to get him back."

Diggle sighed. Finally, a good sign. That usually showed that Diggle was preparing to give in.

"I don't know how drugging him and carrying his unconscious ass to an abandoned warehouse is going to get him back. We've all tried to talk to him – nothing worked."

Felicity wanted to stamp her feet in frustration, except only spoiled little girls in children's books from the thirties did that. She didn't want to tell Diggle everything she'd got planned for Oliver – then she'd have to tell him about the first part, which she still couldn't think about without blushing. And, yeah. Other stuff too.

"The warehouse isn't abandoned – it was hidden away in Queen Consolidated's old holdings. And once Ray took over, I managed to lose it with other properties that were sold off, in case we needed it someday," she pleaded. Oh, and I'm not planning on doing much talking once I get Oliver there, she added, silently.

"Ok! Ok. Fine, I'll do it. Is there any way you'll let me in on this plan?"

"No! I mean, um, think of Lyla, and the baby. You go be with your family, Dig."

Diggle raised his eyebrows as she spluttered through her explanation, almost tongue-tied at the thought of Diggle finding out what her strategy was going to be.

She'd kept some of that strange drug they'd used on Thea (and Oliver, ironically) in Nanda Parbat. Once she handed it over to Diggle, he looked at it for a long time, before pocketing the vial and staring at her quizzically.

"Felicity, I don't want you to get hurt. Or worse."

Did he know, or guess what she had planned?

"I don't want to get hurt either. I just want Oliver back."

Her voice broke once she said his name, and she couldn't hold back the tears. Stupid, crying like a baby. Grow up, Felicity. She tried to knuckle the tears away hurriedly, only to jump as a heavy hand fell on her shoulder, in a clumsy attempt at comfort. She looked up to see Diggle's horrified face.

"It'll be ok, Felicity. We'll try it your way."

She nodded, drying her eyes and blowing her nose. How come when women cry in the movies they're all beautiful and don't turn into snot monsters? And, was that it? Crying in front of Diggle, that's all it took to convince him. He was already halfway up the stairs to Verdant (probably thinking some variant of 'women, right?'), where the music was as loud and crappy as it had always been. Thea was trying to lose herself in her work as a distraction from losing her beloved brother and her boyfriend in a matter of days. She'd confided in Felicity that she'd have traded her asshole father for both of them in a heartbeat.

Felicity trudged up the stairs at a much slower pace, and then had to fight her way through the annoying party people to get to the door, which didn't help improve her mood any. All she could do now was wait. And the more time passed, the less confidence she had in her plan. Turns out that post-sex (kind of) euphoria wore off after a few days, and then she started nit-picking the whole encounter.

However, it turned out that she didn't have to wait for very long. Only a few days later, she got the call. When she arrived at the warehouse, it was all as she'd pictured it. Oliver was slumped in a chair in a deserted office, asleep, still dressed in full assassin gear – cowl, mask, and tunic. Diggle was still there, looking pensive. He opened his mouth as soon as she came in, and she knew she had to stop him before he managed to talk her out of it.

"I'll take it from here, John. Really, I'll be fine."

She was glad that he'd actually listened to her instructions – the chair was metal, and the legs were bolted to the floor. She had a sports bag full of supplies with her, and she put it on the floor, waiting for Diggle to leave, so she could get everything ready. Get Oliver ready, actually.

He finally left, not before extracting a promise from her that she'd call him in the next 12 hours, and if she didn't he'd descend on the League of Assassins like the wrath of God. He had friends in ARGUS, and in the Suicide Squad, and she shuddered at the thought of those three forces clashing. The city would never be the same.

Felicity looked at Oliver, again. She hoped he was really asleep, because she had work to do.

Half an hour later, she looked at her handiwork, and nodded. Yeah, she was ready for Oliver to wake up now. She'd stripped him to the waist, and zip-tied his hands behind his back. Then she had used more zip-ties to fasten his legs to the securely bolted chair-legs. She'd never forgotten what he'd told her about being tied to a chair - specifically, how _not_ to stay tied to a chair. One of the tricks involved falling on your side, accidentally on purpose, and either breaking the chair or using it as a weapon. She'd got a small rug with her, and spread it on the floor in front of the chair. Part of her plan involved her knees, and that floor was filthy. No way was she getting down there without something between her body and all that dirt.

She walked around the chair, trying his bonds. Her heels clicked loudly in the empty office, and for a moment the atmosphere seemed eerie. It was late afternoon, the shadows were growing deeper, and she didn't have candles with her this time, not having planned to spend a whole night on this. Maybe she should have dressed more practically, but she wanted to go all out this time – a ruby-red dress, again, but this time skin-tight, and with a plunging neckline, designed to leave enough to the imagination to whet the appetite. Matching red lipstick, bright and glossy, was _key_. Her heels weren't high enough to be impractical, but enough to be sexy.

She walked around him again, and this time she couldn't resist trailing her hands over his tattoos, his scars. Would he lose all that the first time he tried the Lazarus Pit? She couldn't resist stroking his chest, either (not a lot of resistance when it came to shirtless Oliver, laid out before her), and his nipples hardened. How am I going to wake you up, she thought. Should she sit in his lap, or would that just make it easy for him to head-butt her? He seemed secure enough. If still fast asleep. Or was he? She realised that at some point in the last few minutes his breathing had changed, becoming shallow and quick.

Ok, we're back in the game. Showtime.

She'd made sure there was a desk opposite the chair, and leaned back against it now, folding her arms in a way she knew pushed her boobs up. Hey, remember these, Oliver? Come on, stop faking.

"I know you're awake."

No reply.

"God, you're stubborn."

Nothing changed, except maybe his breaths slowed down a little, the better to fake me out with, she thought. Except in this fairy tale, Little Red Riding Hood was calling the shots, and the wolf was tied to a chair.

"Hey!" She kicked at his boot, but if anything, his breathing slowed down even more, and he tried a tentative snore to throw her off.

Oh, so we're playing that game, are we? Well, I can play too, she thought. She settled on her knees in front of him, though she hadn't anticipated how vulnerable it would make her feel. She shook off the feeling, and went back to the plan, unbuttoning his pants (no zippers for the League of Assassins), and pulling down his underwear so that he was practically naked, his heavy cock resting on his thigh, and she stroked it gently. Circumcised, huh. That was unexpected. Was there a hitch in his breathing just now? Let's make sure, she thought, and blew on the crown. That was a gasp, right?

She pretended she hadn't heard it, and blew again. This time there was no sound, so she went to the next phase, and licked a long stripe all the way along the shaft, which stiffened with an almost comical speed.

The groan above her head couldn't have been suppressed, and she looked up into Oliver's furious face. No, not Oliver. Al Sahim was in charge again.

"What are you _doing_?" The last word was hissed at her.

"What does it look like?"

"Forsake this foolishness, woman!"

Forsake? Foolishness? Did the league include a dictionary and thesaurus in their brainwashing sessions? She smiled at him, and decided to provide some visual reinforcement, licking along the shaft again, and over the head, which was getting wet with pre-come. She wasn't a big fan of the taste, but needs must when the devil drives, as her dear old grandma used to say, and she couldn't stop her brain from taking the side route of wondering why the devil needed to drive anywhere, and where did he even get his licence, anyway. And why was she thinking about her grandmother at a time like this? Sometimes she wished she could mute her brain.

"I have a name, _Oliver_."

"I am Al Sahim, Heir to the Demon. Oliver Queen is dead."

She ignored that (that's what he _would_ say, right) and licked his cock again, and now it was fully hard, rising up against his belly, deep purple and twitching. She looked up at his face, which was a similar deep colour – even his chest was flushed, rising and falling with his heaving breaths.

"You look pretty alive to me."

"You are mistaken. Don't confuse a purely physical reaction with any emotional response."

Trying something she'd seen online, she pursed her lips over the head and was gratified to hear him sucking the air in through his teeth. Purely physical, huh? Fine by me.

"At this point, I'll take whatever I can get, thanks."

His face grew even angrier, if that was possible. What scared her was that while she was used to 'angry Oliver', this was something different. Someone else. A stranger.

"You debase yourself with this display, acting no better than a common wh-"

In one swift movement, she got up and grabbed his face in mid-sentence.

"Do not finish that word, mister! You know what, I think we've heard enough out of you today."

She fumbled through her bag, trying hard to see its contents through the red mist that obscured her vision. Who the hell did he think he was, calling her that? She was a strong, independent, sexual woman, and he would shut up, or she'd make him. Got it, she crowed inwardly, as she pulled out the roll of duct tape and waved it in his face. She quickly taped up his mouth, just as he was opening it, no doubt to ask why she carried a serial killer's kit with her. And I don't care how much stubble you rip out when you pull it off, she thought. Maybe the League of Assassins should have a shaving class.

Felicity looked at him again, noting that his expression was more sheepish than angry, and he wasn't meeting her eyes. He _should_ be ashamed. Like he deserved the high ground, him and his League of Murderers. She didn't know she wanted to continue, now. She was finding it hard to reconcile the man she loved, the one she wanted back, with the stranger wearing his face, and who'd just called her a whore. Or tried to.

She looked down in his lap and noticed that he was flagging a little, and that instantly changed her mind. She wasn't going to let him win. It was a matter of pride, now. She was going to blow his mind.

"Hmm, what to do . . ."

She kept her tone deliberately light and casual, just to keep him guessing what she'd do next.

Felicity stood behind him and trailed her hand over his shoulder, down to his nipple, flicked it carelessly, and back up again. She nuzzled the back of his neck and couldn't resist dropping a few kisses on his dragon tattoo. Then she leaned over him, making sure she swung her hair in his face, and nibbled on his ear.

"You know the outfit looks ridiculous, right? Wait, was that a growl?"

It hit her like a ton of bricks – she could say anything, anything at all, and he just had to sit there and listen. He couldn't stalk away in a snit, he couldn't yell at her, he just had to sit and take it. This was heaven. Hmm, maybe she'd had an _ulterior_ ulterior motive when planning this scenario. On the other hand, she would have given anything to hear him roar out her name right now. Back to work, Felicity – any minute now your multiple personalities are going to start arguing with each other, and then where will you be?

A casual glance in his lap confirmed that he was good to go, and she settled back in front of him. His pants were in the way, though, and she was tired of getting the button fly in her face.

"Hey, scoot up a little. I need to get your pants right down."

He didn't move, and a glance upwards confirmed that he was staring into space, his jaw working.

"I said, move your heavy ass, _Sahim_."

She punctuated each word with a flick of her fingernails at his balls, only hinting at the damage she could do there if she really wanted to, and he hurriedly lifted up slightly, enough for her to pull his pants and underwear over his knees. She looked up again, feeling insulted at his expression of mild surprise.

"What, you didn't think I knew 'Al' is an article? I did go to MIT, you know."

And that's it, Felicity decided. No more small-talk, no more distractions. She was going blow him until he no longer remembered his own name, whatever he was going by. She started licking the crown gently, little licks along the ridge, punctuated by quick nuzzles of the shaft. The breaths above her head turned into quick puffs as he fought for air, and she was gratified by that. A few more long licks along the shaft, her right hand at the base with a finger resting on his balls, and she went to town, swallowing his cock in a swift motion and giving it a hard suck. Oliver cried out through the duct tape, and she tightened her grip around the base to stop him from coming, and started to suck for real, bobbing her head up and down for the full effect. She'd never tried to deep-throat, and wasn't about to now, but sucked him in as deep as she could, and his grunts suggested that she was successful.

She paused.

"Look at me."

No reaction. His eyes, what she could see of them, were tightly closed, the muscles were jumping in his jaw and standing out on his arms, which were straining against the zip ties. She nuzzled his thigh, higher and higher until she reached his groin muscles, and then she bit him. Not hard, just a friendly reminder of how close her teeth were to his cock. Though all it did was make his cock twitch and drool, making her giggle again.

"Wow, Oliver likes it rough. Oh, so sorry, I mean, _Al Sahim_ likes it rough."

She licked the place she had bitten, flicking the tip of her tongue over the muscle, just to see it flutter. He glanced down at her then, and was it her imagination or did his eyes look . . . different? She didn't see rage in them, just that slightly pained expression that was Oliver's pissed off vibe. No, Felicity. No. She wasn't going to give in to wishful thinking. Maybe the League had an acting class, along with the sword-fighting and extra vocabulary.

"Look at me and I'll let you come. I promise."

He looked down, and once again she seemed to see something there, but it was time to go to work, and finish him off. She slid her lips over his cock slowly, almost all the way down, and up again. Down and up, first slow then fast then slow again, using her hand on the shaft and balls, making obscene slurping noises which sounded really loud in the silent room. He was groaning and gasping continuously now, but she ignored the sound and kept going, faster and faster until her jaw ached and she started to sweat, until finally, finally she could feel the tension in his balls increase until he came, spurting in her mouth, and she swallowed.

She let his cock slip from her lips and hung over his lap for a few more seconds, trying to get her breath back, which wasn't easy with the smell and taste of him surrounding her. She was soaking wet – once again, doing things to him had turned her on so much she could hardly wait to go somewhere private and, um, take herself in hand, so to speak. Though it was past time Oliver did something about that.

She leaned back, fairly sure that her expression wasn't too wrecked (though her hair and lips were probably another story) and saw that Oliver was really undone this time. He was snorting like a prize bull, and gasping, and at first she wasn't sure if he could breathe properly through his gag. As she watched, he managed to calm down, and, wow. The league had really taught him something about self control. And the art of the poker face. She used to be able to tell what he was thinking – not any more. Was this her Oliver, or still Sahim? Was he trying to form her name behind the duct tape? Could she risk untying him?

While she was debating the issue, he suddenly lunged at her, stopped short by the zip ties, and that made her mind up. Geez, Oliver, you sure know how to make things difficult for yourself. So, time to leave, and this time, she wasn't even sure what, if anything, she'd gained. She wasn't going to try and free him herself, but she didn't want to leave him there without an exit strategy either. Luckily, when she was undressing him she'd found a really sharp knife in his boot. She got it out, and Oliver froze, darting looks at the knife and at her face.

Felicity rolled her eyes once she realised he thought she was going to stab him in the dick or something. She was tired of arguing though, so she wordlessly put the knife on his thigh.

"Great assassin like you should be able to cut through the ties in no time," she said, making sure that her words dripped contempt. She was feeling frustrated and irritable, there was a weird taste in her mouth, and her throat hurt. Plus, she was sure her hair had that specific JBF look and smell, and she never even got F'd.

She grabbed the bag and stalked out, not even looking back, not wanting him to see the tears that were prickling at her eyes. She didn't know why she was crying – whether it was the way he'd looked at her before, like she was a bug under his feet, or the fact that it wasn't working. It wasn't working! Her inner voice turned into a wail of protest, and she wanted nothing more than to get under the shower and wash off the day. What the fuck was she doing, anyway? This was a waste of time. Oliver was gone.

 _The address had been known to him, from before. He circled around the house a few times, before he satisfied himself that there was no alarm to trip, and picked the lock to the front door, closing it noiselessly behind him. He managed to walk to the bedroom without making a sound, conscious of the items casually strewn all over the floor – a heavy sports bag, spilling zip ties and duct tape, high-heeled shoes which looked as if they had been kicked off, and a tablet computer with a shattered screen._

 _She lay sprawled out on the bed, fully dressed, and snoring slightly. He looked closer in the dim moonlight. Her face was tear-stained, and there was a crumpled up tissue clutched in her hand. Her glasses had fallen under the bed, and he picked them up and put them on her dressing table. She was still wearing the dress from the warehouse, and it had ridden up to show her inner thighs. He had to squeeze his eyes shut and clench his fists to control himself when he thought of the warehouse, and all she was prepared to do to get him back. He desperately wanted to touch her, to wake her up and tell her that he was himself again, but mostly to touch her skin again, to nuzzle her warm flesh and kiss her until she gasped for breath._

 _She shifted in her sleep, and sighed, and he pulled back, hurriedly. But she was still asleep, and he relaxed, wondering why he'd even come here (he knew why, deep down). Nothing had really changed. Sure, he knew his own name now, and no longer saw everything through the haze which had blurred his vision for the last few weeks. But the plan Malcolm and ARGUS had hatched still had to go ahead - the safety of Starling City depended on it. And R'as still thought of him as his heir, and would still hurt everyone he loved if he tried to get away. Wasn't it better to let her think she'd failed? She'd get over him, eventually, and maybe after all this was over they could . . . talk. Oh, who was he kidding. The chances of him surviving this shitshow were getting worse by the minute. Maybe Felicity should just forget about him altogether. If there hadn't been a planned extermination of Starling City, if Malcolm hadn't gotten in touch with him and told him of a way out - if, if, if. Maybe he could have just asked to be brainwashed again. Not that would have made any difference to his feelings for Felicity. He'd still dreamt about her, even after the brainwashing, though by the time he was awake, he'd managed to convince himself that just driving away with her was a ridiculous dream, a fragment of his past life. Those dreams had changed in tenor and frequency after the foundry - so many fantasies in which he'd turned the tables on her and- well. It was a good thing his status as Heir to the Demon gave him a private room. He was pretty sure that Heirs to the Demon didn't usually spend their private meditation time jerking off. And then the warehouse happened, and he was lost. He wasn't sure when he'd finally stopped being Sahim, but he was pretty certain it was after she'd duct-taped his mouth. He'd been sitting there, feeling all self-righteous about the corruption of the city (and when had he forgotten how to get out of zip ties, anyway?), and she'd licked her way up his cock, and then stopped him coming. It was like a wall in his brain crumbled, and he, Oliver, was sitting there, practically naked while Felicity- her mouth- oh, Jesus. He'd felt ashamed of what he'd called her, and at the same time, like his skin was on fire, and his head was going to explode. He didn't want to look at her, because he felt she'd read everything in his eyes, and he couldn't put her in any more danger. She had to believe he was still R'as al Ghul's puppet, even though everything inside him wanted to to tell her the truth, and beg her forgiveness. And so, ignoring the inner voice which was screaming at him to stay, he backed out of the door, leaving as quietly as he'd come. He wished he could tell her that he loved her, that he wanted her, that he was sorry. He put on his mask and cowl, and became Al Sahim once more, at least on the outside. It would have to be enough._


	3. Chapter 3

When Felicity woke up to the shadowy figure standing near the foot of her bed, she wasn't sure if she was really awake, or still dreaming that she had woken up. In fact, she wasn't even sure the shadowy figure was there, or was just a few weird shadows that would resolve themselves into random furniture. Except she didn't have any furniture in that corner. And she especially didn't have any furniture which featured a quiver.

She also didn't dare to open her eyes all the way – a few nights ago her eyes had flown open, she had taken a deep breath, and the half-seen person had melted away into the shadows. Why was she being so coy? It was Oliver, it had to be Oliver, unless some other league stooge had taken a shine to her during their abortive battle to save Nyssa, which had been pointless anyway.

She managed to keep her breaths even and steady, and her eyes narrowed. She didn't have much vision through her eyelashes, but she half-saw, half-sensed that Oliver wasn't moving. Her hand very carefully _didn't_ tighten on the Glock Diggle had insisted she take home with her, after a few lessons in its use which Lyla had only been happy to provide. She knew very well that any movement would send Oliver, or whoever it was, flying into the night on those Cirque du Soleil scarf things the entire league seemed to have trained on. On the other hand, did she really think she could use the gun on Oliver?

She was just so angry.

Maybe the stages of grief were bullshit, but she'd been through denial and depression, and now she just spent her days in a rage. How could he have let himself be tricked by R'as like that? And yes, it was perfectly clear to her that she was essentially blaming Oliver for being violated – he should have known better, he shouldn't have trusted R'as al Ghul, and so on. Good job, Felicity, next you'll be saying he was asking for it.

But she was still so incredibly angry. Diggle would never forgive Oliver for what he'd done. Thea had shot an arrow into her own brother. And Felicity herself? Had done exactly nothing except the weepy question at the battle, and she was still kicking herself for that. Oh, sure, Lyla's guns, good job, Felicity. And why hadn't Oliver insisted on searching her himself? That had been weird, right? She could still picture Lyla firing into the crowd of assassins like she was Tony Montana, and feeling a sudden horror that she'd hit Oliver. Felicity just couldn't remember what Oliver had done that was so fucking terrible they had to go full bore on their friend, a person they had professed to love up till that point. And for what? For Nyssa? There was no way Nyssa was dead, no matter what Laurel thought. This was _her dad_. Even Henry the Eighth hadn't killed his own children. And Lyla? Don't get me started, Felicity thought.

The figure moved out of the shadows and came closer to the bed. So, it _was_ Oliver. What did he want with her? She had to bide her time, wait for him to come even closer, and then make her move. In the last few days, when she'd imagined this moment, she varied between images of herself pulling the gun on Oliver before he could twitch (like a boss, her mind added) or a more realistic picture of him taking the gun from her the moment she moved a muscle. She tried to convince herself that she had an advantage because of his feelings for her, but it wasn't working – her mind jeered at her for that. What feelings, Felicity? Remember his face when you told him to look inside his heart, or whatever bullshit you came up with? He looked at you like you'd just crawled out from under a rock.

Engrossed as she was in her thoughts, and in trying to fake a deep sleep, she almost missed Oliver moving even closer. Was he going to kneel on the bed, or did he think that would wake her up? If he got too close, would he notice that her eyes were open? Suddenly, there was a stroke of luck – a car door slammed in the street outside her apartment, Oliver's head snapped to the side, and that's all she needed, because when he faced her again, he was looking down the barrel of her gun. For a moment she was nonplussed. Now what? Oliver was staring at her, in a kind of "your move" way. She wanted to ask him if he was feeling lucky, punk, but the time for jokey repartee had passed.

"Put the bow and arrows on the floor, Ivanhoe. And the sword." Bet you don't even know who that is, drop-out.

He followed her orders carefully, making sure she saw that his hands were empty.

"You should really take the safety off." Oliver sounded calm, and very like himself, rather than Al Sahim. And that enraged Felicity, for reasons she couldn't explain.

"Oh really? Oh really? Maybe the safety _is_ on, and maybe it isn't! Let's have some fun finding out! Tell me, punk, are you feeling lucky?" Oh. So maybe it was Clint Eastwood time after all.

"Felicity . . . " Oliver started, and she nearly dropped the gun in her shock. It sounded just like her Oliver, though it wasn't the exasperated bark, just the pained and patient query.

"What did you just. You're using my name now? What happened to 'whore'? And, you know, nothing?" She hadn't realized until she answered him, exactly how angry she still was over the unfortunate slut-shaming incident. Or the lack of response at the Useless Battle of Starling City.

Oliver winced. He seemed to be trying to choose his words, but Felicity felt she'd waited long enough.

"Just tell me what you want, Oliver. You've been coming here all week, all serial killer like, watching me sleep. Or wait, Sahim, right? Something to the Demon? Are you the heir now, or are there another fifty hoops you have to jump through?"

Oliver looked like he was trying to decide what to say which wouldn't get him a bullet in the head. His expression looked more puzzled and worried than T-1000-ish, and she let a tiny little flicker of hope come to life in her mind. Maybe it _was_ him?

"I'm sorry, Felicity. I'm really sorry."

Now she started to panic.

"You're sorry? What do you mean, you're sorry? What for? Have you come here to kill me? Are you pre-apologising for killing me?" Her hand was sweating and the gun seemed to be growing heavier by the second. This was a mistake. She should have called Diggle as soon as she noticed Oliver's night visits.

"No! God no. Felicity, I . . ."

But the panic was suffocating her, she couldn't think clearly, let alone listen to him. It must have shown on her face, because the next few seconds were a blur of movement, in the middle of which he managed to take her gun, disarm it, and push her onto the bed with one hand on her chest to keep her down.

"The safety was on," Oliver said, in a kind of wonderment. Felicity hardly heard the words through the blood rushing in her ears. This was it, he was going to kill her. She started to shake . . . with rage.

"Go on then, you piece of shit! Kill me! I'm not gonna beg for my life!" She spat the words in his face, noting the look of shock on his face.

"Felicity, please calm down!"

He tried to put his hands on her shoulders and she panicked, flailing at him, going for his eyes. Anything that Diggle had ever told her about self-defence went out the window – not that it mattered. He restrained her insultingly easily, then put his forehead to hers, murmuring her name. "Please, please, it'll be ok." She could see his eyes and they looked sincere enough. But she wasn't going to be fooled that easily.

"Are you seriously trying to tell me that's not why you're back here? On orders from your Lord and Master to tie up loose ends?"

Oliver's jaw dropped. "How did you . . . ?"

"I knew it! Fuck you, Oliver! Get your hands off me!" She managed to keep up the façade of anger even as a timid part of her wondered if she shouldn't start pleading now.

"Felicity, I came back to save you! To save the city . . . please listen to me."

"I'll start listening when you let go, and move back a little." Oliver immediately let go of her wrists, and she fought the impulse to rub them. She also fought the increasing ache between her legs – damn her body and its reaction to Oliver. He was still pretty close to her, and she wanted nothing more than to pull him on top of her (yeah, and then he snaps your neck, brain-trust).

Oliver rubbed his face roughly, but chose his words carefully.

"Felicity, all this: the heir business, Nanda Parbat, joining the League, was all part of a plan, conceived by Malcolm Merlyn and ARGUS, to take down R'as Al Ghul. As the leader of the League, no-one here cared what he did. But once ARGUS found out he had the only remaining sample of a super-virus which could kill millions of people, they knew he had to go. And so they reached out to the one guy they thought could make it happen."

"Malcolm Merlyn," she breathed. "Wait, they trusted Malcolm? Mr 'I think an earthquake machine is a splendid idea' Malcolm? And _you_ trusted him?"

Oliver shrugged. "I had no choice. I couldn't let the League kill Thea."

"Yes, I get that . . . wait, super-virus? What super-virus?"

"I first came across it in Hong Kong, where I knew it as the Alpha/Omega virus. And R'as al Ghul sent me here to wipe out Starling City with it. And that's why I've been doing all this."

Felicity started to get pissed off again.

"So, was the great Stockholming part of the plan? Did Malcolm forget to tell you about that part?" As Oliver looked puzzled, Felicity rolled her eyes. "Stockholm Syndrome, Oliver. Crack open a book sometimes."

"No, I didn't know about the brainwashing." Oliver smiled, apparently relieved she wasn't screaming obscenities at him anymore. "And ARGUS was lucky the conditioning didn't take. It already started to break before I left Nanda Parbat." At her querying look he shook his head. "I can't talk about that now. I'll tell you one day." His tone changed, and a little smile played about his lips. "And then, a beautiful woman tied me up in a warehouse and s-"

"Stop!" Felicity's face was on fire. Oliver had that half-smile on his that she hadn't seen on Robo-Oliver's face. It looked almost like he was remembering something . . . pretty good. But how could she trust him?

"Is that why you came here? 'Cos you thought I'd put out?" Seriously, Felicity? Why was her brain treating this like a teen movie from the '50s?

Oliver seemed to be trying to restrain a smile, but abruptly turned serious. "I've come to get you out of the city. You have to go. I can't do this if I don't know you're safe."

Something had just occurred to her.

"Wait a second, so you weren't brainwashed when you tried to kill Nyssa? You kidnapped Lyla! You left baby Sara on her own, screaming for her mom! How could you?" Oliver had the grace to look ashamed at that.

"I didn't have a choice, Felicity. They were starting to wonder why I couldn't handle Nyssa. And I only took Lyla once I knew Diggle was on the way home."

She kind of saw his point, though she knew Diggle wouldn't see it that way. It was pointless rehashing the issue, if, as Oliver said, they were all in danger. That still didn't explain why he kept turning up in her bedroom in the middle of the night.

"So, why here, Oliver, and why now?"

Oliver looked down, clearly unwilling to meet her eyes. There was just a little extra tinge of red in his face, around his cheekbones. Felicity smiled. And yelled at herself, but that was only in her head. She was tired of rehashing the same argument over and over. He looked up again, and this time she saw how badly he wanted, needed her. She held her hands out to him, and he pulled her upright, looking anxiously in her face for signs that she wanted this too.

"I could never hurt you, Felicity. Never," he whispered in a broken voice. "Even when I was lost in their mind games, I never even imagined hurting _you_."

She stroked his face, even as she wondered who he _could_ imagine hurting. Never mind. Live in the present. "Do we have time?" she asked.

"An hour. Maybe more," he answered, but he still hesitated, seemingly afraid to even touch her. She realised she would have to make the first move; it was about time, she thought. She'd held back long enough. Though it was going to be embarrassing once he found out how wet she was, how much he turned her on.

She kissed his closed lips a few times, nibbling at them gently, and when she pulled back to really look at him, he grabbed her and crushed her in his arms, returning the kisses, plundering her mouth with his tongue.

Oliver pulled back and took off his cowl, and kissed her again, deeper this time, and she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back, pushing her tongue into his mouth, tasting him for the first time in what seemed like months. He pulled her into his lap without breaking up the kiss, and he moaned into her mouth as she rubbed against him. She could feel his hard cock and rubbed against him again, just to hear him gasp out her name. They kissed until her ears were ringing. As they pulled apart, reluctantly, Oliver grinned.

He kissed along her collarbone, taking off her t-shirt, and kissed her breasts, pushing her back down into the pillows. Now he had better access, he could really play with her boobs and bite gently at her nipples, but it was clear where he was headed. He pulled down her pyjama pants and she lost her ability to breathe for a second, waiting in anticipation, until she squealed when he started licking her clit, tapping it with his tongue, using his tongue to thrust inside her pussy like he was fucking her. It was filthy and great, the sounds it produced were wet and obscene, and she couldn't stop the gasps and squeaks and moans which came out of her with his every movement.

He started to use his fingers and his tongue, and that was it, for her. She came explosively, shuddering through the aftershocks.

He moved up again, wiping his face, and she trembled again at how dirty that made her feel, He latched onto her mouth letting her taste herself on his lips, and that was it. She couldn't wait any longer, and scrabbled for his waistband, cursing the complicated button-fly, and wishing the assassins could just join the 20th century and embrace zippers. She pulled out his hard dick and tugged at his shoulder to get him on top of her.

"Wait, let me – " He knelt up to start unfastening his clothes and she stopped him, making him look at her quizzically. "No time," she said. "Leave them on." She tried to pass it off as a need to hurry, but she had her reasons – there was nothing like a fully clothed Oliver pushing her down into the pillows to get her motor running, to make her thighs slick.

Oliver's eyes burned as he grabbed her face and kissed her again, and she pulled him towards her. His heavy gloved hands pushed her thighs apart and his thick cock slid into her, not stopping, stretching her until he was all the way in, and his heavy bulk pinned her to the bed.

"Dirty girl," he whispered in her ear and she giggled, spreading her legs even wider. He groaned. Then he looked down at her, slightly worried, it seemed. "Is this ok?" She wasn't sure to convey exactly how much better than ok it was in words, so she wrapped her legs around his ass and used her inner muscles on his cock, making him groan even louder.

"Wait, I – I'm too close," he gasped.

She just laughed, and kissed him again, grabbing his ass to push him deeper inside her, ignoring his protesting that he was going to come too fast if she did that. Finally he grabbed both wrists in one big hand and held them down above her head. When did I get this kinky, she thought, as this turned her on even more than she thought possible. She lay back and let her legs fall apart and he pulled out and sank into her to the hilt, once, and then again, slow at first, then fast and faster. It wasn't like Nanda Parbat, which had been beautiful in its own gentle and loving way. But this was amazing, hard and fast fucking, punctuated by his grunts and her cries, every thrust hitting her clit with an intensity that was almost painful. He let her wrists go to play with her nipples, and she gasped. His thrusts grew wilder and it was clear he was close.

"I can't hold it . . . I'm s-"

She grabbed the back of his head and silenced him with a deep kiss, simultaneously pulling him into her and tightening her muscles around him, as he came, yelling. He collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily.

"Fuck."

Felicity giggled. "Al Sahim has a potty mouth."

Oliver's mouth quirked as he tried to stop himself from grinning but couldn't.

Her muscles were feeling kind of overstretched, and she had a few sore spots from his various buckles, but she still didn't want to move, except she was thirsty. Stupid throat.

"Hey." She pushed at his shoulder. He looked at her, a little dazed. "I need to get something to drink – move."

Oliver smiled at her, and dropped his head to kiss her again. He rolled off her and collapsed on the bed in a heap. Oh no, mister – it's not nap-time yet.

"Do not go to sleep, Oliver. And take your clothes off," she ordered, as she turned and padded to the kitchen. If she came back and he was snoring she'd – well, she'd probably pull the blankets over him and let him get some rest. Even if they only had an hour or two together, Oliver needed to be super-alert in the next few days.

She was standing in front of the refrigerator when an arm circled her waist, and she jumped, before she heard him laugh and nuzzle her shoulder. Oliver started kissing her neck and fondling her boobs, then moved lower, sliding his fingers through her curls and inside her. He pulled her close, and she could feel his erection against her ass. He must have followed her instructions and gotten tired of waiting for her to stop futzing around in the kitchen. She wouldn't have minded him bending her over the counter and sliding into her from behind, but he had other ideas.

She turned around and his tongue invaded her mouth, his cock sliding against her pussy, getting wetter by the second. She disengaged from him and sat on the counter, letting her legs fall apart, feeling daring. He was staring at her, and pushed her legs even wider apart. She leaned back and let him look at her, until she got embarrassed and tried to close her legs again, but he wouldn't let her. He took her hand and pressed it into her folds, until she got the idea and started rubbing herself, as he watched, and his cock grew even harder and wetter. Her fingers were dripping wet when she put them against his lips and in an explosion of movement he slid into her and they started again.

It was wilder than before – with this angle he was deeper inside her, and used his hands to bounce her up and down on his cock. She wrapped her legs around his waist and bit his shoulder and he yelled as he nearly came. She wasn't feeling much friction on her clit with this angle, and tried to touch herself, but he pushed her hand away and proceeded to rub her and pinch her clit until she cried out and came, wailing his name.

He wasn't finished yet and bore her to the ground, spreading her legs wider, his hands bruising her thighs as he pushed them apart. He slid into her again and started a punishing rhythm, pushing her across the floor with every hard thrust. She was sore. Every part of her ached and she honestly thought she couldn't come again, but her abused clit was responding to the stimulation once more, and she whimpered as he stretched her beyond what she thought she could take.

"Oh, I can't, oh Oliver, please, oh," she whimpered as she came again, this time along with Oliver, who groaned her name as he spilled inside her.

They lay, gasping, on the floor of her apartment. It wasn't exactly comfortable, and she felt like she couldn't catch her breath, but she didn't want to let go of him. He felt like acres of warm skin all around her, on top of her, inside her.

"Now I'm _really_ thirsty," she remarked, and he burst out laughing. She hadn't seen him smile in so long, let alone laugh, that she could only stare at him. As happy as she'd been a few seconds ago, she was suddenly terrified that this was the end. Was there really a chance? Did he think Starling City was doomed, and he along with it?

"Hey." He kissed her face, seemingly sensing her change of mood. "The plan will work. This isn't goodbye."

"That's what you said when you went to challenge R'as al Ghul," she answered, unable to keep a sour tone from her voice. "Remember how that went?" He looked sheepishly at her. "And I'm pretty sure there's something you're not telling me. No more secrets, Oliver." She didn't look at his face, not wanting to find out if he was planning on telling her the truth or denying there was anything to tell. Because there was _something_. She was sure of it.

Felicity pulled herself up off the floor, ignoring her protesting muscles. She grabbed the bottle of wine she had been looking for and push-pulled Oliver to the bedroom, cleverly avoiding his wandering hands. Maybe she'd finally get the truth out of him.

A few minutes later she regretted that impulse all over again. She was staring at Oliver open-mouthed, and he was looking worried. In his earlier summary of ARGUS plots, and playing the long game to bring R'as al Ghul down, and an apocalyptic plague unleashed on the city, he had left out one salient detail.

"You. Married. Nyssa?"

Oliver rubbed his face, clearly searching for the words to make her understand.

"I had to do it, Felicity! I had no choice. It was his plan from the start, along with destroying Starling City with the super-virus. If I wanted to stop the plague, I had to go along with the marriage."

"You. Married. Nyssa. Daughter of the Demon. Gay Nyssa. Lesbian? Is it still pc to say lesbian? Should I say LGBT person?"

She knew she was rambling, but she couldn't stop herself. She still ached from his cock and his fingers, and she was listening to him talking about being married to another woman. And that wasn't the worst thing.

"Nyssa would never agree to that! Never! You _forced_ her into it!"

"Felicity!" There it was, the roar she'd missed. "I wasn't given a choice! Her father planned the whole thing, and I was told to follow orders. I couldn't pretend to be brainwashed and fight him on this at the same time. I tried to convince her to play along, but she didn't trust me."

"Play along? You mean have sex with her?" Good job, Felicity. Now you sound like a jealous wife. Hey, I'm sitting on a bed naked, sweaty, and covered in fluids, not looking a million dollars in other words, listening to the love of my life telling me how he married super beautiful and ultra-cool Assassin Princess, so cut me some slack.

It was only when Oliver started talking that she realised she'd said the last words out loud.

"Felicity . . ." This was the pained version. "I love you so much. I don't want anyone else. And you're beautiful. And of course I haven't had sex with Nyssa. I'm not a rapist." He looked a bit hurt, but then perked up, his lips curving in a smile. "Wait – I'm the love of your life?"

She punched him in the shoulder, right on top of the Bratva tattoo. He grabbed her hand and kissed it, continuing the feathery kisses up her arm until he reached her neck, which he nuzzled. And wonderful as it was to have her Oliver back, to have him hitting all the right spots until all her nerve-endings sparked and sizzled, she knew they were out of time. She had to be the strong one, here. She pulled away from him, and kissed him, and he once more enveloped her in his arms. She noticed he was shaking slightly, but he took a few breaths and visibly calmed down. She wished he could teach her how to do that.

"When all this is over, and _the city is safe_ ," she said, intoning the last phrase to make him smile, "it's D.I.V.O.R.C.E. time for you, mister. Or maybe an annulment. Whatever's quicker."

Oliver looked so relieved that she seemed to be taking it so well, that Felicity made an active effort to let it go. I will be a Zen master, she told herself. Mistress? Whatever.

He got up and started getting dressed, stopping once to grab her and kiss her deeply. When he turned and bent over to put his boots on, she noticed something which she'd been too pissed off to remark on at the warehouse.

"What about the huge arrowhead branded into your back, did Malcolm Merlyn forget to mention that too?" Like Oliver needed more scarring.

He smiled at her. "I guess he did." He took her sports bag from the floor and tossed it on the bag. "Get what you need, nothing more."

Felicity remembered him mentioning that she had to leave, but now she was inclined to argue the issue.

Oliver saw her open her mouth and forestalled her protests.

"Felicity, I need you to be safe. I need my friends to be safe. Lyla and the baby are out of town, Diggle's gone to ARGUS, and Thea went to see Roy. Laurel and her dad think they have to follow up on a case in Central City. That only leaves you, Felicity."

"And the millions of innocent people in the city! What about them?"

"We can stop this, Felicity. But I can't focus if I think you're in danger. Please." He grabbed her face and kissed her deeply. "I can't lose you." He had tears in his eyes, and she was openly crying, but she managed to make herself stop. If this was the last time they'd be together, she wouldn't leave him with this image of her.

"Come back to me, Oliver. Promise me."

"I promise."

Oliver helped her pack a few things as she got dressed, then she grabbed as much tech as she could carry. He told her to get out of the city, and she decided it was a good enough time as any to visit her mom.

"Yes, but drive to Central City and take a train from there. I'm not sure I trust R'as Al Ghul not to plant the airport with his people."

They were standing outside her car, but he was keeping to the shadows, while she was loading the back nonchalantly, as though it was every day that she left with a bag in the middle of the night. She wanted to tell him she missed him already. She wanted to kiss him, one last time. But what if she was being watched? This had to look convincing. So she got into her car and drove off, taking one last look into her rear-view mirror, hoping that she could still see him standing there. The street was empty. Had the whole night just been a very vivid dream? Her aching muscles and a lingering soreness suggested otherwise.

Eyes on the road, Felicity, she admonished. It was a long drive to Central City, and she didn't want to have gotten through all this craziness just to wipe out on the road because she was distracted. The dark road seemed endless in the light from her headlights, but when the sun came up, she was driving into Central City, and following the signs to the train station. Oliver hadn't wanted her to get a plane ticket, even there, arguing that at least trains had an emergency stop, and that she could go the rest of the way by bus, or hire a car. She guessed he had a point, and at 6am she was on the first part of her journey. She texted her mom from the train - she was so overjoyed to hear from her, that Felicity felt a bit better about running from Starling City in its time of need. When, many hours later, she drove up to her mom's apartment building and saw her in front of it, waving happily, Felicity could finally let go and break down, losing herself in her mother's loving arms.


	4. Chapter 4

Felicity stared unseeingly at the bank of monitors in their new and improved Arrow Cave at Palmer Technologies. Though it was less of a cave than it had ever been. Also, there was no Arrow in it, which was the main problem, and the reason for her inability to concentrate.

R'as had been defeated almost two weeks ago, Nyssa was the new R'as al Ghul, the last remaining dose of the super-virus had been destroyed, and no-one in Starling City had suffered so much as a nose-bleed. And still Oliver wasn't back. It had taken them a week to find out, through Lyla's contacts, that Oliver had been taken to ARGUS headquarters for a debriefing to conclude the mission. But why would that take so long? Was it a debriefing or an interrogation?

Felicity tried to focus on what her monitor was showing her, but got distracted once again when Thea walked in. She waited for Thea's usual question, whether she had heard anything, but Thea didn't even ask that. Had Thea given up? Had all three of them given up on Oliver? She knew Diggle was still angry, over the fact that Oliver hadn't included him in the operation. And she wasn't sure that Diggle would ever forgive Oliver for bringing assassins into his home. And she clung to that one night they'd had, but the memory was already fading, along with the sound of his voice and the taste of his skin. Her eyes started prickling with unshed tears, but she controlled herself with an effort. She had to pull herself together, for Thea, who needed support, not tears or self-pity.

No-one spoke after a few perfunctory hellos, and so Felicity jumped a bit when Thea's phone rang. It rang a few more times, and when Felicity looked up, Thea was staring at the number, puzzled. When she answered, someone obviously asked her who she was, prompting her to confirm her name. Then Thea's eyes widened in shock, and she turned the phone on speaker.

"I . . . I'm not sure I heard you right. Could you repeat that, please?" Thea's voice shounded shaken.

"I'm calling from Glades Memorial Hospital. We think we have your brother, here, Oliver Queen."

There was not a sound in the room. They were all staring at the phone. Finally, Thea managed to get a word out.

"Is he- why can't he tell you who he is?" Tears were already streaming down her face.

"He was dropped off at the ER yesterday, unconscious. He still hasn't woken up. Can we confirm that he is Oliver Queen? Could you describe him, or his defining features?" The woman sounded matter of fact, as if it was every day that she asked someone to identify a loved one. Maybe it was, Felicity thought, through a shock so profound she felt like the world had slowed down.

But Thea was sobbing, and couldn't say any more, so Felicity took over, hoping she would be able to hear something through the rushing in her ears.

"He has an eight-pointed star tattoo high up on his chest, on the left. And a dragon tattoo on the back of his left shoulder." One which I remember kissing, she thought. Please let it be Oliver. Please let him be ok.

"Yes, the man in question has these tattoos," the woman answered. "When can you come down here-" she was asking, but Thea was already half out the door, followed by Felicity and Diggle bringing up the rear.

When they arrived, after Thea confirmed her identity, they were shown to Oliver's room, which showed signs of having been hastily vacated for Oliver, after the hospital administration found out that the unknown John Doe was _the_ Oliver Queen.

Thea and Felicity raced in – and stopped short. Oliver looked impossibly small in the hospital bed, with endless tubes and wiring attached to him. He had lost weight, looked really pale, and was breathing into an oxygen mask. Diggle followed at a slower pace, but was still brought up short when he saw Oliver's condition.

Oliver opened his eyes, and focused on Thea, trying to smile. The nurse helped him take his oxygen mask off, and Thea half fell on him, throwing her arms around him. He tried to say her name, but could only speak in a pained whisper.

Felicity was trying hard to control herself, and failing. What had they done to him? And why?

"Felicity." It took her a few seconds to recognize the harsh whisper as her name. She grabbed his outstretched hand and sat next to him.

"You'd better stop speaking, young man, your throat can't take much more abuse." The doctor was coming along with Oliver's chart. "Starvation, beating, electrocution, sleep deprivation, you name it!" She looked angry. "I can't believe you don't want to make a police report – you were tortured!"

Oliver looked sheepish. "It was very dark? I couldn't really see their faces." He offered this in a tentative way, knowing that the truth was that you couldn't get justice from ARGUS. He exchanged glances with Diggle, who immediately started a conversation to distract the doctor, who knew enough to let the whole thing go, even though she realised she was being handled.

"The bad news is that it'll take a while before you're on your feet again. The good news is that you can recover at home, as long as you can assure me you have apparatus to deliver intravenous solutions."

Diggle nodded, and asked for a list of Oliver's medications, and the doctor left to get it, which gave them an opportunity to talk. Or rather, yell.

"Did you know about this?" Thea was furious. She looked at Diggle with such betrayal in her eyes that Felicity didn't know who to feel sorry for most.

"Look, I knew that Waller had questions – I didn't know this was how she was asking them." Diggle sounded disgusted. "I wish I could say Lyla didn't know," he continued, but was interrupted.

"Thea, come on. " Oliver was speaking with difficulty. "I'll be fine, really."

"I thought you were working _with_ ARGUS. And Oliver, what happened to your voice?" Felicity found herself being unable to speak above a whisper, too. Oliver hesitated, and Diggle shut the door.

"I told you that ARGUS weren't expecting the conditioning." Felicity nodded, trying hard to keep calm. Oliver seemed to be forcing every word out, and had to pause to take sips of water. "Turns out they _really_ weren't expecting it. And even when I broke it, they thought I must have given away something to R'as al Ghul, or learnt something from him. Maybe he had more Alpha/Omega somewhere. Maybe he had something worse. When I said I didn't know, they kinda didn't believe me." Oliver tried to smile and shrug, but only managed to wince as his movement pulled at some abused muscles. Diggle walked around the room in frustration, barely holding himself back from punching the wall.

The doctor came back in and rattled off a series of instructions, all of which flew over Felicity's head, and she hoped _someone_ was listening. She could only look at Oliver who had dozed off, exhausted by the short conversation. What had they done to him? And how could she prevent it from ever happening again?

And, she mused, three weeks later, what had made her think that Oliver would give up on his 'I have to be alone' schtick once the immediate, League of Assassins-related danger had passed? Was it the night of mind-blowing, consciousness-altering, earth-moving sex? She was pretty sure that was it. Oh sure, Oliver, go and save the world, Oliver, come back to me, Oliver. He had come back, but was it to her, or to the city? She was going to find out the answer to that question, if it was the last thing she did. And it very well might be, she thought, as she tried to look around her without actually moving her head.

She was striding along one of the more sketchy alleys in the Glades, hoping she was giving off serious 'fuck off' vibes while simultaneously keeping one hand on her Glock, hidden in her purse.

"This alley isn't safe," a robotic croak announced from the fire-escape directly in front of her, and she shuddered in relief. And indignation. Oliver hadn't spoken to her about anything besides their work in the the week since he'd declared himself fully recovered and started patrolling again. Diggle agreed with him, and that was it – action bros once more. They no longer had the easy camaraderie they'd once shared, though a lot of the animosity had been handled by whatever they went through during the super-virus panic. But she'd been shuffled to the side like the little office wifey, like his Girl Friday, and she'd had enough. Felicity Smoak was no-one's assistant. And it was time Mr Arrow learned that.

"Good thing there's someone to save me, then," she squealed in an unnaturally high falsetto. "Is it the Batman?" She heard a sigh from the fire-escape, oddly amplified by the voice-changer, and a series of thuds as Oliver parkoured his way down.

"Felicity," he rumbled, then winced, and turned off the voice-changer.

"Arrow," she answered, mimicking his tone. In her glare she tried to make it clear she could have called him 'Oliver', in public, secret identity be damned. He moved closer, looking apologetic and annoyed at the same time.

"It's dangerous out here. You know that."

"If you'd talk to me in the 'office'," she said, "I wouldn't have to do this! You know what," she said as she stalked towards him, "to hell with talking. It's never accomplished a damn thing, except make us miserable."

She grabbed his hood and kissed him, nibbling and biting at his lips until he reluctantly opened his mouth. She twined her arms round his neck and rubbed up against him as close as she could, until he couldn't resist putting his arms around her and pulling her to him like he never wanted to let her go, plunging his tongue into her mouth aggressively, like he'd been dying to do this forever. She could feel his arousal and wanted to cheer, then decided to slip her hand into his pants instead. Unfortunately, the Arrow pants were less forgiving than the assassin gear, so she quickly unzipped them and slipped her hand in, grabbing his hard cock, as he moaned into her mouth.

Someone cleared his throat behind her. It was a theatrical throat clearing, meant to be heard by everyone in the alley. And possibly the next alley, too. Felicity and Oliver disengaged, and she tried to close his pants again, which was slightly difficult over his erection.

"Captain Lance," Oliver rumbled. Felicity took a few seconds to compose herself, before she turned around to smile innocently at Lance, who was standing in the alley with a sardonic expression on his face.

"Public lewdness, public nudity, you're really piling on the felonies today, _Arrow_." If there was a more sarcastic way of saying Oliver's vigilante name, Felicity hadn't heard it yet.

"Did you need something, Captain?" Felicity admired Oliver for that. He wasn't going to let himself be drawn into a verbal sparring match, though she'd have liked to point out that no-one had actually been nude, and the obscene acts hadn't even gotten started yet, more's the pity. And at least one of those was actually a misdemeanour, she was sure.

"Just to ask you about a new variant of MDMA that's been flooding the Glades. Kids buy a new party drug, end up in a coma. Or worse."  
The whole issue of the Arrow being back on the streets, in spite of the fact that he'd supposedly died weeks ago hadn't caused any problems, once Oliver had spread rumours that the "Arrow" was just a title, to be taken up by different vigilantes in turn. And as the crime rate had risen exponentially in the weeks he'd been gone, which Felicity had secretly called his assassin vacation, the brass, as Lance called them, had instructed him to accept it, or get a new job. Quentin Lance, having a skull made of granite (tm Laurel Lance) had been inclined to not accept the Arrow back, and to keep on with his vendetta against Oliver, but something had won him over, eventually. She wasn't going to pry, but Laurel had mentioned spending more time with her father, who'd apparently forgiven her for keeping Sara's death from him. Good for you, Laurel, she thought.

"I'll look into it, Captain. Felicity, where's your car?" Damnit, Captain Lance. She'd almost had him.

"It's just over there," she sulked, pointing to a spot a block away. Now Oliver would shoot an arrow into the sky (how did he always know if there was a building to shoot at?) and zipline it out of there. Yoicks, and away, her traitor brain supplied, and she had to suppress her giggles at the image of Daffy Duck Arrow. Except Oliver wasn't leaving, he was walking her to the car. Huh. This was new. Wait, this was her chance!

"We need to talk," she hissed. To her amazement, Oliver nodded. First he walks her to her car, then he agrees to talk – was it opposite day?

"I'll be at the office in an hour," he rumbled, only to look puzzled when she shook her head.

"Come to the foundry," she countered. "It'll be . . . more private there."

She got into her car and drove away, before he could ask any more questions. Sure, Verdant and the foundry had kind of been outed by Captain Lance, but who would expect them to go back there? Hiding in plain sight, like the purloined letter, or something. She was waiting for Oliver to get there before she finished installing her new security measures – no point in ruining the surprise now. Once she arrived, she texted him the location of the new alleyway entry, and waited.

Oliver was punctual to the minute, for once, and when the new cameras she'd installed showed him wandering towards the entrance, she typed in the command to open the door. When he walked into the reborn Arrow Cave he stopped, stunned. It was very similar to the set-up she'd had at Palmer, but at least this belonged to them, rather than an eccentric billionaire inventor who might eventually decide to be eccentric elsewhere, and then where would they be. Plus, there was enhanced security. So much security. Security out the proverbial wazoo (what was that anyway? She'd always meant to google it).

"Felicity," he started, and she didn't want to let him finish.

"I've been working on this since it was safe to come back to Starling," she rattled off. "The money is Thea's, and this was her idea. She wants you to have somewhere to go to that doesn't have to be shared with your bratty little sister. Her words, not mine!"

Oliver looked a bit misty at that. She decided to show him the best part, in her opinion, grabbing his hand and dragging him to a recessed door, which when opened, showed a bedroom, with a wardrobe, an armchair, and an enormous bed. Oliver stared, amazed, and opened his mouth to speak again. Felicity decided to head him off at the pass.

"Don't say you can't accept this! Thea's exact words were: Consider this something to make up for all the birthdays and Christmases you missed stuck in Purgatory. Good thing she let me buy the furniture – I didn't want to have to explain why you needed a really big bed."

She trailed her fingers over the sheets while looking at Oliver through her lashes, and was relieved to see an appreciative grin on his face.

She watched as Oliver went tentatively to the wardrobe and opened it – all his clothes, including the few suits he still had left, were hanging there. She came up behind him and put her arms round his waist.

"Get changed. There's a bathroom in the back if you need a shower. We still need to have our talk."

She was sitting in her usual position, in front of the bank of monitors, setting up the biometric IDs the place needed, when she felt she was being watched, and spun around in her chair, only to realise it was Oliver.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey," he answered. Oh, hell, talking was overrated, anyway. She pushed him down on one of the office chairs and climbed into his lap. He smiled, and grabbed her ass to get her closer, and she giggled, happily.

"So, where were we?" She kissed him gently, and this time he made it deeper and dirtier, penetrating her mouth with his tongue.

"I'm sorry I've been avoiding you," he said once they'd managed to stop kissing. "I needed time to think. And I really want this. Us, I mean. I just want to make it work. If that's what you want," he added, sounding unsure.

"If that's what I- Oliver! I made you a Batcave!" He laughed, and kissed her again, and she went straight for his waistband again, grabbing his cock and giving it a few strokes. Just as she felt his fingers starting to creep under her skirt, someone cleared their throat. Really loud. As if they'd been doing it for a while. Felicity wanted to scream, but managed to hold it back, with an effort – she was consoled when she looked into Oliver's eyes and found a matching look of barely restrained fury.

"Hey guys," Thea said tentatively. "Wow, Felicity, the biometric ID works really well."

"It sure does," agreed Diggle from the staircase, and what was happening? Why were the other members of Team Arrow there? She'd wanted to show them everything tomorrow, long after she finished banging Oliver like a screen door in a hurricane. She didn't trust herself to speak, though, afraid she'd let loose a scream of pure frustration.

Oliver stepped into the breach.

"Did we have a meeting planned?" His tone was gentle, with none of his own frustration apparent – and Felicity knew he was frustrated. He was hard as a rock. Good thing he wasn't in his Arrow suit any more – those pants hid _nothing_.

"We got an email, telling us to meet here," Thea offered, waving her mobile. "I thought it was from you." Just as Felicity was about to descend on Thea and look at this supremely cock-blocking email, the motion sensors in the alley went off and Amanda Waller's face filled the security feed monitor. Felicity had left nothing to chance this time, but hadn't thought the whole set up would be tested so soon.

Swearing like she'd never sworn before, she grabbed her tablet, keyed in a command, and a section of the brick wall slid aside in front of Waller. Best let her in before she got out the grenade launcher. Oliver sat back down and looked like he was trying to project a casual lack of interest, though Felicity knew he got tired much more easily nowadays, and was far from recovered, something which could be laid at Waller's door.

The woman herself walked nonchalantly into the room, looking around her with undisguised interest.

"Well. This is very nice." God, Felicity hated her.

"Look around as much as you can – it's the last time you're getting in here."

Waller ignored her, looked at Thea and Diggle with contempt, and turned to Oliver.

"Mr Queen, we have a job for you."

"I don't work for you, Waller. I told you after the super-virus was dealt with that I was done."

"Your country needs you, Oliver. And you don't have a choice."

That was it. Felicity had heard enough. She had to walk around Waller to face her, as she seemed determined to act as though she, Felicity, didn't exist.

"Why exactly should Oliver do anything for you?"

Waller's face curved into a smile that was made of pure cruelty. She enjoyed this, Felicity realised, keeping people under her thumb, using and discarding them.

"We've never been successful in breaking Oliver Queen, except when threatening his family or friends. His little sister might catch a stray bullet, she spends so much time in such a terrible part of town. His secretary," she continued, her words dripping contempt, "might disappear, her body turning up in the trunk of someone's car, having been raped and strangled. I trust I'm making myself clear."

I am not anyone's secretary, Felicity wanted to scream, before realising that a rational person might have been more bothered by the raped and strangled bit. But Thea had already started spitting insults at Waller, while Oliver was turning grey where he sat. Time to deal with this, once and for all.

"Thea!" Her tone was enough to silence the room. "Ms Waller?" That unflinching gaze was turned onto her, and she quailed, even though she managed not to show it on her face. "I need to explain something to you. And I'm going to speak slowly so that you can follow."

Waller's lips curled in a sneer, but she said nothing. Felicity took a deep breath and continued.

"If anything, _anything_ happens to Oliver Queen, or anyone even remotely connected to him; if his crazy old aunt who lives in Oahu has a mysterious accident, or his third cousin twice removed gets unexplained chest pains, hell, if Thea gets into a fender bender and goes through a windshield, I will unleash a DDOS attack like the world has never seen. I have written viruses no-one except me can neutralise, and they'll all get to go out and play. Financial institutions will crumble. Governments will fall. And ARGUS? Your organization will be a smoking crater once I've finished with it. They won't identify you by your dental records. You will be wiped from the earth."

The only sound in the room was the faint humming of the machines, and the occasional beep as her motion sensors did sweeps of the alley. Oliver seemed torn between admiration and disapproval, Diggle looked horrified, and Thea was making tiny fist punches when she thought no one was looking.

Waller had managed to keep the sneer on her face, though Felicity could see a tiny bead of sweat gather at her hairline. She herself felt ice cold. She forgot nothing that had happened in the past year, and laid so much of it at Waller's feet. She forgave nothing.

"What would someone like _you_ know about DDOS attacks and viruses?" The contempt in her voice was almost palpable, and Felicity reacted in the way she knew would most irritate someone like Waller. She laughed. Peals of laughter came out of her (yes, she'd practiced – laughing to cue was _hard_ ), as though she'd never found anything funnier.

"You seriously don't know! This is hilarious! Guys," she turned to the others theatrically, "she has no idea." You are going to pay for that secretary crack, evil bitch queen.

"Ms Waller, you might remember a few months ago when someone used a virus to mess with Starling City's infrastructure. No one knew how to stop it, except me. Because I wrote it. In college. For fun." She practically spat out the last few words. "I used to be good at that kind of thing. Now, I'm the best."

The bead of sweat on Waller's forehead had been joined by a few friends. "You're bluffing."

Felicity smiled. She'd been practicing _this_ smile in the mirror for a while, and she'd been satisfied with the final result: a smile with no humour in it, that only gave one message: try me.

"You can't launch this attack if you die first." Waller hadn't given up yet – she was dead and didn't know it.

"A dead man's switch can also be a program which runs in the absence of its creator."

Felicity managed to speak without any emotion, with a kind of detachment that good old Al Sahim would have envied. She looked at Waller closely, not in anger, or fear, but like she was looking at a particularly interesting bacterium under a microscope. The silence dragged on, and the tension stretched out unbearably. Until something wonderful happened, something that Felicity had hardly dared hope for: Waller blinked. She looked aside, at Oliver even, who folded his arms, pretending that he understood a word Felicity had just said. Holy shit, she'd won. Oh yeah, she was the fucking best. Kali Ma Shakti De, bitch.

Waller tried to bluster that Oliver was good for nothing right now, and that she'd be back at a later date, and Felicity let her save face. Instead of saying what she wanted to say, that she'd burn the place down rather than let Waller in again, she folded her arms. And said nothing some more. Waller turned on her heel and stalked out, and Felicity focused on her tablet, setting up some face recognition to ensure that alarms would go off if Waller even approached any of their entrances. Her hands were shaking, and she kept missing the commands she wanted to tap on, until someone took the tablet out of her hands and put it carefully on a table. Oliver put his arms around her, and the simple gesture was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

"It's ok, everything's ok," he murmured, stroking her hair. She was shaking all over now, and could hardly believe what she'd done, what she'd said. Oh, none of it was a bluff. It just had seemed a lot simpler when she was setting everything up on her own in front of a monitor, fingers flying over the keyboard, lost in the intellectual pleasure of setting up such intricate programs, when one missed keystroke could spell disaster. Well, there was a caveat – she had set up everything to target ARGUS. Though there were some dark nights when her thoughts turned to wholesale destruction, in particular, the night when she got stuck and decided to break into ARGUS as a mental exercise. She'd never realised that ARGUS recorded all their interrogations, and the image of Oliver strapped to a chair, screaming as electricity coursed through him, was not one that would leave her any time soon.

"I don't think I like the idea of my wife and daughter living under some kind of hanging sword, Felicity." Diggle sounded disapproving. Felicity wiped her eyes and pulled out of Oliver's arms, reluctantly.

"I don't like the idea of Oliver being tortured. I don't like the idea of being raped and murdered," she countered. And I can't forgive Lyla for what she might have known about what was happening to Oliver, she thought.

"She was bluffing," scoffed Diggle, who was starting to irritate her just a bit.

"She wasn't bluffing when she attached electrodes to his test-" she yelled.

"Felicity!" Oliver interrupted her – ah, she'd missed that roar.

Diggle winced, while Thea just looked confused. Oliver's voice sounded pained. "I won't even ask how you knew that – no, Thea, I'm not going to explain. John, don't worry, Felicity was exaggerating," he added, with a warning look at Felicity. Sure, let Diggle think what he wanted. Oliver put his arm around Diggle and whispered something in his ear which made him laugh, and managed to defuse the situation – and that was fine by her. Let him think what he wanted. Anyway, she was starting to feel tired, and sleepy; and she'd had such plans for that evening. Such sexy, sexy plans.

Thea knew to take a hint on seeing Felicity yawn widely. "Wow, it's so late! I totally had to do something . . . at the club . . . and I hear them right now!" It wasn't very convincing, and Oliver couldn't suppress a smile as she practically ran past him up the stairs, pausing for a whisper of "I never want to see you guys having sex ever again," before she made herself scarce. Felicity made sure all the exits were securely locked once they'd left, and then collapsed into a chair.

Oliver was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking at her. She found his expression unreadable at first, then resolving into a half-smile.

"That was quite a speech."

"Yup."

"I don't suppose you're going to tell me how much of that was real and how much was for effect."

"Nope."

"You know, Lyla isn't really active in ARGUS anymore. There was no way for her to do anything to help me-" He stopped, because she'd got up and was descending on him like a fury.

"I sat at that woman's dinner table every night for two weeks, while you were being electrocuted. I ate her food while you were being waterboarded. There is no way she didn't know what was happening. It's not going to happen again, I promise you. On my life," she added.

He wrapped his arms around her and sighed. "Has anyone ever told you," (that you're a crazy homicidal maniac, she thought) "that you're a goddess?" She perked up at that, and dropped a kiss on his lips.

"Why Mr Queen," she said coquettishly, "are you trying to seduce me?"

"Trying?" Oliver was full of exaggerated indignation. He kissed her back, deep and wet, and pulled her to him, grabbing her ass and crushing her against him. He lifted her up on one of the tables and stood between her legs, and stopped. She looked up at him, curiously – he seemed to want to tell her something, but was unsure how to put it.

Oliver found it hard to meet her eyes as he continued. "You know I told them everything, right? About us. About _you_. The warehouse, your apartment, _everything_."

Felicity just smiled and shook her head. "I thought her whole 'raped and strangled' schtick was kind of personal." His eyes widened with surprise that she was taking it so well.

"Come on, Oliver. You told me about this. About torture, I mean, and how everyone breaks." She suddenly had a flash of Oliver yelling, _Just tell me what you want me to say and I'll say it! Anything!_ , and had to force herself to put it aside. "I didn't even need to find their collection of torture porn to know that."

"Their _what_?" Oh, no, Felicity thought, horrified. He didn't know. "They were filming me?"

"It's all gone, Oliver. All of it," she said fiercely. No-one's going to see you like that ever again, she thought. His grip on her arms had become painful and a muscle jumped in his jaw, but then he visibly relaxed.

"Won't they notice?" he asked mildly, obviously having decided to let this go.

"There's still something there, it just isn't _you_. Everyone likes The Lion King, right?" He smiled, though his eyes were far away. "Don't go back there, Oliver. Stay here with me." She wrapped her legs round him and pulled him towards her, pushing one hand down the back of his pants. He rested his head on hers and sighed. She pulled back and looked at him, but his face was unreadable. Her first instinct was to keep talking, but she threw that idea out immediately. Best go nonverbal, she thought, and started dropping little kisses all over his face. She felt his lips curve into a smile as he slid his hands up her thighs.

"I really like this skirt," he said, apropos of nothing.

"Oh really, she answered, amused. "Why is that?"

"Easy access," he whispered in her ear, and she giggled. He pushed the skirt up and slid his hand in her panties, and she gasped as he found her clit immediately, and started sliding his fingers inside her. She could barely think while he was doing that, and managed to moan, "Why don't we break in your new bed?"

They were already kissing as they fell through the doorway, pulling at each other's clothes, but not getting very far until they broke apart, laughing. She pulled at his top and he took off his pants, and he went straight for her panties, not even bothering with her shirt and bra. "Good to know you've got your priorities straight, Oliver," she laughed and she pushed him back until he was half-sitting, half-lying on the bed, completely naked and hard.

"You're still dressed," he complained, and she made a show of slowly unbuttoning her top and throwing it at him, and unhooking her bra, letting her boobs bounce free. She looked up at his sharp intake of breath, and noticed his eyes fixed on her breasts, and smiled fondly. She felt at her waist to take off her skirt, only for him to say, "No, leave it on." She looked up and was transfixed by the heated expression in his eyes. Instead, she lifted the hem until he could see her pussy, and slid her fingers through her curls, spreading her wetness, making him moan. She knelt on the bed straddling his legs, and grabbed his stiff cock, passing a thumb over the head. She couldn't resist bending over to give it a quick lick, which turned into three or four, until she just had to start sucking, the moans above her head giving her encouragement. Her mouth was starting to fill with precome, and she realised he was getting closer when he said her name, and put a hand on her shoulder, stopping her. She looked up at him, innocently, mouth still fastened on his cock, and he had to close his eyes to stop from coming.

"Felicity . . ." his voice was hoarse with effort. Her mouth slipped off him with a pop, and he groaned. "I really want to come inside you." She felt a sudden gush between her legs at the words, and decided she wanted him to feel it too. She grabbed his hand and put it between her legs, and he slid two fingers inside her to the knuckles, pinching her clit between them, and she shuddered, already gone with her first orgasm. He fastened his mouth on her nipple, and fucked her hard with his fingers, relishing the wetness that dripped past them. But she wanted more than that, and pulled his hand away, putting it on her waist instead. She managed to straddle him and started lowering herself on his cock, looking into Oliver's eyes as it slid into her inch by inch until she was fully seated in his lap, and needed to catch her breath.

Oliver had other ideas – he kissed her as deep as he could, playing with her boobs, rubbing her nipples.

She started to ride him, slowly at first, then faster, her boobs bouncing as she rose and fell in his lap, and he flushed all over as she babbled his name on the downstroke. He plunged his thumb on her clit and the stimulation became almost unbearable – she came again, her pussy shuddering around him, and wailed, but he wasn't there yet. She was getting tired, and she held onto his shoulders, burying her face in his neck as she rode him, her "oh, oh, oh" getting louder and louder until he yelled and came, kissing her neck and her breasts feverishly. They were both exhausted, and supported each other for a few seconds, trying to catch their breath.

Felicity winced as she lifted herself off him – she always forgot what a strain being on top was on her thighs. But it was so worth it, and Oliver seemed to think so too. He'd fallen back on the pillows, and was having trouble keeping his eyes open.

"It's ok, Oliver. Get some rest," she said gently, as he seemed to be trying to force himself to stay awake for her sake. He smiled and drifted off, mouthing something which sounded like "I love you." He was not recovered, no matter what he said. Well, she was going to make sure he was safe. He had done so much for this city, for her, and for their friends. It was her turn now.

She took off her skirt and tried to go to sleep, but was too keyed up and got up again, glancing at Oliver to make sure that she hadn't woken him. She grabbed her tablet to make some more tweaks to her coding, thinking angrily of the look of contempt on Waller's face earlier. And it hadn't taken much to convince Diggle that she'd been bluffing, either. What Waller and even Diggle didn't know was that she was not the damsel in distress. She was not the princess to be rescued - she was the fucking dragon. Wow. Was that dark? She had a sudden moment of self-doubt – was she doing the right thing? Was she evil now? A snore at her side interrupted this train of thought and she looked fondly at Oliver, who was down for the count. All his scars stood out on his pale chest – yes, his muscle tone was amazing, and there was a bulk to him that she loved feeling on top of her and crushing her into the mattress, but the burn marks and bullet wounds made her want to weep for him. This latest shitfest had left him with a huge brand on his back and who knows how many emotional scars. And she'd decided it was _enough_. He'd paid, and paid, for whatever crime the universe had decided he was guilty of. And no-one, _no-one_ was going to touch Oliver again. Except her. In a good way.

After her fourth yawn, she decided to call it a day, but as soon as she lay down, her eyes flew open and she couldn't fall asleep. She tossed and turned a little, ending up on her side with Oliver behind her. She was just wondering if she should start counting sheep, when Oliver's arm circled her waist. She'd have thought he was doing it in his sleep, except his fingers went straight between her legs.

"I thought you were asleep!" Now she could feel his cock against her ass, hard and leaking.

"Was asleep," he answered. "Awake now," he said as his fingers spread her pussy and slid in. He kissed her shoulder and seemed to have a moment of doubt. "Are you sore? Do you want me to stop?"

"Don't you dare stop," she moaned, as he fucked her with his fingers, pushing two in as deep as he could. He slid his cock inside her and started thrusting, his fingers playing with her clit. He went for a slow rhythm, taking his time. She wanted him deeper, though, and she pulled her hips away and he slipped out of her, looking almost comically disappointed, until she got on her hands and knees on the bed, with her pussy facing him, open and wet for him. He groaned behind her and then she felt him get up on his knees and grab her hips. He slid inside her roughly, too turned on to go slow, and started fucking her, his balls slapping against her ass. She cried with every thrust and he grunted, gripping her hips hard enough to bruise. After a few wild thrusts he groaned long and loud, and then stopped moving, only to drape himself over her back and start fondling her pussy again. She was close too, and could only whimper as she came, her thighs trembling with the effort of staying on her hands and knees.

They collapsed on the bed, and this time she found herself dropping off to sleep almost immediately. One thought stopped her for a few seconds – did she really think she could keep Oliver safe forever? Would her love be enough to defend him against all that the world threw at him? It didn't matter, she thought fiercely. For as long as she could, she would protect him, just as he did for her, and the city. And so she drifted off to sleep, Oliver already snoring behind her with one arm casually looped around her waist. Live in the moment, she thought muzzily, as she floated off. Here and now, they were safe. Oliver was safe.


End file.
